places, places, get in your places
She wanted it to be perfect, this new life she'd created for herself. Not a thing out of place. She was meticulous.
She wasn't sure how she'd gotten so set on having a place for everything and everything being in it's place. She wanted control over something, she knew that much. Maybe that need stemmed from the fact that every house she'd ever lived in, been abused in, had been cluttered. Maybe she associated clutter with negativity.
"No, no. Not there Emma. The other cabinet. No. The black one. With the silver- sorry sir, excuse me for a moment. Emma, honey..." she reached for the paper, probably something from the realtor, and put it in the correct folder. The cord from the old telephone stretched behind her and she continued, "yes. Twelve rooms, twelve vacancies."
A smile spread across her face. Progress. Finally.
The blue station wagon pulled up next to the motel a few hours later.
"Norman! Our first guests!" She looked out of the window as the family exited the vehicle. She planned this all out; what she was going to say, where she was going to sit. She'd changed her outfit and spent the better part of the last few hours quietly practicing. Walking toward the wooden stool she'd placed behind the counter, she smiled inwardly. She crossed her ankles, straightened her dress, plastered on a smile.
The bell above the door jingled. "Hello! Welcome to the Bates Motel. You must be Mr. Campbell."